


Lady Gondor

by HASA_Archivist



Category: The Lord of the Rings - J. R. R. Tolkien
Genre: Characters - Well-handled emotions, Plot - Fast moving, Poetry, Subjects - Culture(s), Subjects - Legends/Myth/History, Subjects - Politics, War of the Ring, Writing - Engaging style, Writing - Mythic/Poetic, Writing - Well-handled PoV(s)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-04-20
Updated: 2015-04-20
Packaged: 2018-03-24 23:40:30
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 536
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/3788624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HASA_Archivist/pseuds/HASA_Archivist
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A poem about the Battle of the Pelennor Fields with Minas Tirith and Gondor personified as a lady.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Lady Gondor

**Author's Note:**

> Note from the HASA Transition Team: This story was originally archived at [HASA](http://fanlore.org/wiki/Henneth_Ann%C3%BBn_Story_Archive), which closed in February 2015. To preserve the archive, we began manually importing its works to the AO3 as an Open Doors-approved project in February 2015. We posted announcements about the move, but may not have reached everyone. If you are (or know) this author, please contact The HASA Transition Team using the e-mail address on the [HASA collection profile](http://archiveofourown.org/collections/hasa/profile).

A Lady tall with golden hair  
and eyes like stars; Her face so fair;  
so filled with wisdom and with love  
and light as of the skies above.

Her voice was ever clear and strong  
and lifted up in glorious song,  
yet silent sadness still held fast,  
and memory of days long past.

Her world had changed, or so tales tell:  
the greatest of Her Children fell;  
Her sister to the North was gone;  
She thought She stood alone, forlorn.

Still proud She stood, and beautiful,  
Her will yet strong, unbreakable;  
She did a deed still told in song:  
She met the coming dark straight on.

 

 

By foes beleaguered, all alone,  
She hears the Orc-drums’ hateful tone;  
by fire encompassed, She feels fear  
as of a cold hand creeping near.

The shadows deepen, darkness falls,  
and in the growing gloom She calls;  
Her wailing voice does rend the air:  
so full of hurt and of despair.

Her brother hears; without delay  
he to his sister makes his way;  
yet naught She sees of coming aid:  
all light and hope away does fade.

Forth rides a horseman, sable-clad;  
inspiring fear; no face he had;  
so towering tall and wielding mace:  
a foe that She has yet to face.

Still proud She stands, and beautiful,  
Her will yet strong, unbreakable;  
She does a deed still told in song:  
She meets the coming dark straight on.

She draws Her sword, takes up Her shield,  
and strides onto Her war-torn field,  
determined to withstand all blows,  
to overcome this deathly foe.

_Once—_  
Her shield withstands the cruel blow;  
She trembles hard, yet she does know  
with Anar’s rise will come the morn;  
if She could only stand ‘til dawn…

_Twice—_  
A shiver runs all through Her limbs,  
yet She holds fast as all hope dims;  
the world so silent, wind so still,  
the sky so murky, air so chill…

_Thrice—_  
A flash of light, so piercing bright;  
there is no beauty in its might;  
a shrieking cry that could rend stone,  
and Lady Gondor down is thrown.

She rises not from stone-cold floor,  
for strength remains in Her no more;  
the cruel wraith bears down on Her,  
but lying there She does not stir

as She remembers long-gone days  
of peace, and beauty, light and grace;  
the wisdom of Her Mother past  
who into oceans cold was cast.

A breath of life, a beam of light  
beyond all hope does end the night,  
and in the heavens rings a call  
of morning in her lofty hall.

As She lies listening, Her heart swells  
for She does hear as clear as bells  
an answer: swiftly from the North  
Her brother singing canters forth.

 

 

O tears of joy She wept that day;  
their number told not in this lay;  
they fell like rain amidst the fray  
and washed all Mordor’s filth away.

And tears that mourned Her perished sons  
fell in the vale where Anduin runs,  
then flowing red as sunset’s light,  
now grey as tears, as silver bright.

 

 

_Anar_ is Quenya for “Sun”.

The last two lines are taken from the poem “The Song of the Mounds of Mundburg”:  
 _Grey now as tears, gleaming silver,  
red then it rolled, roaring water ___  



End file.
